


Old Habits

by otherhawk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Trauma, Triggers, accidental mental compulsion, little angst little fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 09:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherhawk/pseuds/otherhawk
Summary: While visiting Adam and the Them something happens which Crowley reacts badly to. Aziraphale offers comfort.





	Old Habits

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chicken Soup for the Ineffable Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403199) by [DaniGetYourGun (SharkbaitHooHaHa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkbaitHooHaHa/pseuds/DaniGetYourGun). 

> This was massively inspired by a wonderful story I read on Tumblr by DaniGetyourGun which can be found here. https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403199/chapters/49143947  
I read it and thought "Ah! This could be angsty." Then the finished article ended up being nowhere near as angsty as I expected. Go figure. :)

Aziraphale was just putting the finishing touches on the mugs of cocoa when he heard the children scream and felt the desperate wrench of a demonic miracle. He was running immediately, far faster than any human would have been able to react, and so when he reached the living room Brian's hand was still outstretched, Wensleydale was still screaming and the last drop of black blood was just spattering onto the carpet.

He looked around quickly. The four children seemed unhurt but they were pale and huge-eyed, staring at the space where Crowley had been standing.

“What happened?” he asked, dreading the answer when there were so many different possibilities. If Hell had...or Heaven had...or those horrible demonologists...

“I'm sorry,” Adam said, near tears. “I didn't mean to.”

His imaginings came to a screeching halt. “I'm sure you didn't,” he said, automatic, reassuring. “And it's going to be quite alright, my dear boy, I'll make sure of that, but can you please tell me what happened?”

“Actually, I don't think it was Adam that started it,” Wensleydale spoke up, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder the former antichrist.

“We just wanted to know if the two of you were together,” Pepper said, raising her chin. “_Together _together,” she added meaningfully. “But he kept dodging the question or lying. It was really stupid.” 

“And then Adam said, but he didn't mean to,” Brian jumped in. “I mean, he's done it to me a couple of times, and it was annoying but he felt really bad about it – he even gave me his best robot comic to keep – so I don't know what went wrong.” 

“But what happened?” Aziraphale asked again, trying not to sound too worried or too impatient. 

“I did it,” Adam said miserably. “I didn't mean to, honestly, but sometimes when I tell people to do things they just do them. And I told Crowley to tell us the truth about how he felt about you. And...and..” 

“And he bit right through his tongue,” Brian said in a hushed voice. “He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then he just - “ He clamped his mouth shut with an audible snap as if to demonstrate. 

“He was bleeding,” Pepper added. “And that's when Wensley started screaming - “

“ \- you were screaming too - “  
“ - I was _surprised. _Anyway. He was bleeding and his hands were shaking and he did that finger snap thing you do and then he was gone.” 

Oh, Crowley. Aziraphale took a deep breath, his chest aching. Teleportation was technically possible but very difficult and draining. Crowley wouldn't have done it unless he was absolutely on the brink of losing control.

“Adam didn't mean to,” Pepper said, subdued. “None of us meant to. We were just asking, we didn't want to hurt him.” 

“Of course you didn't,” he said, mustering up the brightest smile he was currently capable of. “It's just old habits dying hard, that's all. We both spent rather a long time living in fear of being asked that question, you see. Particularly with what you might call a supernatural compulsion attached. Crowley must just have overreacted.” He managed a laugh that was only a little bit too high. “He does that a lot, you know him, dramatic old serpent. And then he was probably embarrassed so he left in a hurry. That's all. Please don't worry about anything because there's absolutely nothing to worry about.” 

All four children were looking at him, completely unimpressed. 

“Now you're lying,” Brian complained.

“And actually you shouldn't say that someone is overreacting to trauma, actually,” Wensleydale added, pursing his lips at Aziraphale dubiously. “Everyone feels their emotions in their own way, and just because someone has an extreme reaction to a trigger doesn't mean that they're overreacting or being oversensitive.” 

“I know that,” he said weakly. “I just - “

“ \- it's like Ms Rose and loud noises,” Adam suggested, and all of the Them nodded sagely. “Can't go around shouting on her lawn, and we shouldn't have been pushing Crowley like that, only we didn't know until it was too late. So now we need to make sure he's okay and apologise to him.” He looked at Aziraphale expectantly. 

“Ah, well, I think it would be best if I took care of the first part of that,” Aziraphale said hastily, unfortunately imagining the look on Crowley's face if he led a troop of apologetic children to him. “But I'll pass on your apologies and your best wishes, alright?” 

“Well, alright then,” Adam said, scuffing his shoe. “But how are you going to find him? He just vanished.” 

“Let me worry about that,” he said, tapping the side of his nose with what he hoped was an air of supreme confidence. “Now, do any of you have the number for a local taxi company, by any chance?” 

*

Even with the liberal use of miracles to turn lights in their favour and keep traffic moving the journey back to London took much longer than Aziraphale would like. He was far too used to being driven at Crowley-speed and in the circumstances speed limits felt like they were put in place purely to vex him. But eventually the taxi arrived outside of Crowley's flat and Aziraphale thrust a hastily miracled bundle of fifty pound notes at the driver and scrambled out, his eyes fixed on the windows above. He could feel Crowley's demonic energy inside and that was a relief. London from Tadfield wasn't so very far to teleport, and somewhere Crowley was so familiar with probably helped as well. And it was very good that he was in the first place Aziraphale had thought of checking.

He was further relieved to find that when he made his way upstairs the door opened at his touch. “Crowley?” he called, as he stepped into the hallway. “It's just me, dear. Are you up for company, my darling?” 

“'n here,” Crowley's voice answered, sounding like it was coming from very far away indeed. 

Aziraphale found him folded up under his desk, looking for all the world as though he had simply slid straight off the edge of his ridiculous throne. “There you are,” he breathed, carefully sitting down on the floor himself, in touching distance but not touching. Crowley's glasses were firmly in place and there was dried blood around his mouth. “Is your tongue...?” 

The tongue in question flicked out briefly, forked but whole. “Fixed it. Was nothing, really.” He shrugged painfully. “Adam didn't mean to. Was just me being stupid. Brain just went 'Can't tell them about my angel.' Stupid. Panicking.” 

He cleared his throat. “A very understandable thing to panic over, I think, my dear. I don't often sleep but, on those occasions when I have, being asked that question has featured rather heavily in my nightmares.” As had what would come after. A bitten tongue would be the least of it. So many times he'd imagined himself not being quite circumspect enough, being confronted with a direct question and a disbelieving Gabriel. It always ended with Crowley being dragged away to face an eternity of torture, his eyes fixed accusingly on Aziraphale's. He shook his head sharply, dismissing the image. 

“Should've just told 'em what they wanted to know,” Crowley mumbled. “No harm in it now after all. 's just our side.” 

“True,” Aziraphale agreed. “We're free now. There's nothing to stop me from taking out a full page ad in the Morning Chronicle expressing how very much I love you – but I must admit the thought fills me with irrational terror.” 

“Ngk,” said Crowley, cheeks red. “You can't say things like that, angel.” 

He paused. “Not even when we're alone?” 

Crowley shrugged again, a movement that involved too many vertebrae and too few shoulderblades. “Maybe when we're alone.” 

“We'll get there,” Aziraphale said gently. “It might just take a little while longer, that's all. But we both know where we're heading now, and we're making the journey together. Isn't that what matters?” He looked at Crowley tenderly. 

“Yes,” he said, more of a hiss than a word. “AndIloveyoutoo.” 

“I know.” He held a hand out carefully. “Are you ready to get up now, darling?” 

Crowley looked at his hand for a long moment then shook his head. “But...you could join me? If you wanted to.” 

The size of the desk didn't change but somehow the space beneath it was perfectly sized for the two of them to sit cosily side by side. 

“Going to need to tell Adam not to worry,” Crowley said after a moment. 

“There's time enough,” Aziraphale replied, summoning up a bottle of 1999 Romanee-Saint-Vivant along with a jar of peanut butter and two spoons. “Just you try and relax for now.” 

Crowley smiled. “'nk you,” he said, around a mouthful of peanut butter. 


End file.
